


Can't cook, don't cook, please stop cooking

by Eturni



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Accidental Confession, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Multi, US and UK terms do not mix well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:01:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21529468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eturni/pseuds/Eturni
Summary: The prompt is for the husbands visiting Jasmine Cottage and their new human friends. Crowley and Anathema get along like a housefire and Aziraphale and Newt have solidarity as husbands of ridiculous creatures.Crowley wants to bake something for Aziraphale, the real, human way. He enlists Anathema's help with this. It goes about as well as one might expect.
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale & Crowley & Anathema Device & Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Anathema Device
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24
Collections: O Lord Heal This Gift Exchange





	Can't cook, don't cook, please stop cooking

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Paranoia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paranoia/gifts).



> For Paranoia from the OLHTS gift exchange.  
> Happy yule, merry candlenights and whatever comes in between. I hope you have as much fun reading as I did writing these ridiculous creatures.

A demon and an angel slipped out of a very well maintained (and not mangled by fire) Bentley outside of the suitably well kept garden of Jasmine Cottage in Tadfield. Crowley sighed heavily as he closed his door and gave the car an affectionate pat on the roof.

“All I’m saying, angel, is that it’s weird to get married so fast. She’s known him since Armageddon didn’t happen and now-”

“Well she trusts that Agnes knew best. _We_ trust in something ineffable too after all.” Aziraphale ignored the sneering pull of Crowley’s lips at the word and placed a hand on the demon’s arm. “Now. You’re not going to mention a word of it. You’re going to be polite and congratulate them and we’re going to have a lovely day.”

Crowley rolled his eyes, spine bending back to display his annoyance as he continued up the path. Anathema actually appreciated him being straight forward. Woman knew how to call a spade a shovel, but if it was going to cause Aziraphale to be upset. “Yeah, yeah, fine.” He sighed, placing a hand over Aziraphale’s where they had started to twist themselves into a frenzy.

The angel paused and looked up at him with relief and affection completely laid bare in his eyes.

Crowley let his hand slip away, feeling heat curl over his cheeks and willing it down. “Just come on, alright. I’ll play nice with book girl and you and the kid can talk about how anything more modern than a wind up watch is out to personally discorporate you.” He briefly flashed the Vs at the place above the little porch where a horseshoe used to hang before knocking on the door.

It opened to nervous Newton Device, wary and a little uncomfortable as he greeted them with Anathema at his back like his own personal demon protection. Crowley had only messed with the kid once and now he had everyone acting like he’d tried to push him into the quarry rather than just encouraging him to get a reliant robin. The fact that these two things were widely interchangeable was neither here nor there.

“Newton, Anathema, my dear. Aren’t you both just positively glowing? I’m sure the American sun helped with all of that but I can tell the joy in you both.” Aziraphale gushed after Crowley took too long a moment to actually say anything to either of them.

“Yeah, congratulations.” Crowley shrugged with one shoulder, bringing up a hand that was very suddenly holding a wrapped box tied up in string like some Victorian affair. Newt took the box nervously and waved them in. As Crowley passed he locked eyes with Anathema, a long moment of consideration before he continued on. “You look happy.” He finally said, voice too bland for the satisfaction he felt at that idea.

The quirk in Anathema’s lips told him that she understood far too much regardless. “Thank you. _We are._ Now if you wouldn’t mind me stealing your better half away, Aziraphale, I’m in need of a little help in the kitchen and I’m afraid Newt won’t be able to do the honours.”

She grabbed the demon’s arm as though he wasn’t an entity from hell and gently pulled him towards the kitchen when Aziraphale’s only response was to give a polite wave and an “Oh, of course, my dear girl.”

“Please don’t tell me this is some traditionalist ‘a woman’s place is in the kitchen’ bullshit?” Crowley scowled as he dug his heels in for protest’s sake alone.

“Oh no, this is very much because we’ve installed a new electric cooker and apparently it’s just a little too modern for Newt to be allowed to touch it.”

“And you need me because..?”

Anathema raised a well manicured eyebrow at him before switching a pointed look to Aziraphale and back. “Because of that thing we talked about. Where I can’t make that thing I wanted to alone.”

Crowley blinked for a moment, pushing his glasses up further. “Ah right. Thing. Yeah.”

He went a little more pliant as he was led into the kitchen where the smell of some sort of slow cooker stew filled the air. Hard to believe it was that time already after planning it out for so long with the witch… More than 6,000 years on the planet and he still wasn’t quite sure he was ready for this one.

“What did you have in mind then? I assume baking given the really weird Tesco delivery we got.”

Crowley nodded, raising his hand with another nonchalant click of his fingers. Only the distance from the boot of the Bentley to the cottage. Not enough for hell’s forces to pay too much attention to it. A small bag appeared in his hand.

“Yeah, was thinking apple pie.”

“Apple pie? You want… to make apple pie? For Aziraphale?”

“Look book girl, it’s apples, cinnamon, sugar. How hard can it be, right?”

Anathema shook her head with a snort. That wasn’t the point of the question. “If it was, I’m certain you could have done it yourself by now. I mean, why apple pie anyway?”

“Well, you’re American right? There’s all that stuff about ‘American as apple pie’ so figured, you know, if you could do a dessert would probably be that. Didn’t know how good you’d be at a tarte tatin after all. And I mean, me and him, apples is a whole thing, yeah? It’s how we met, kinda. That and a rainstorm but don’t really need to worry about reminders of rain in London, do you?”

Anathema went very still for less than half a second. In human terms it was barely noticeable. To Crowley it was decidedly obvious. She was looking at him, trying to suss something out, and just as he was about to barrel on through and tell her to sod the idea she seemed to let it go. “You know it’s a little presumptuous. Just assuming I’ll know-”

“Do you though?”

“I- What?”

“Do you know how to make it?”

“Well yeah.” Crowley could see Anathema fighting the urge to smile despite the arms crossed in front of her chest. “Even _without_ being around for the invention of the oven. It’s rude to assume though.”

“Demon.”

“Demon asking for lessons in making pie for his… whatever you two are.”

“Listen, book girl, you’re lucky I spent the last few decades trying to stop the Antichrist or I’d have other humans I could go to. You’re a last resort.” He hissed, though there was the faintest hint of a pout to his lower lip.

Anathema only smiled at this. As though he couldn’t go and do some miracle on Gordon Ramsay or one of his other favourites and have them teach him. It was a surprisingly good feeling that a demon, of all things, wanted her to help him with his bid to woo his counterpart on earth with home made baking.

_It was also strange to think that “we’re being visited by an angel and a demon who are friends with us and maybe more than friends with each other” was an actual thing that was happening in her life. But she tried not to think too hard on that one._

“If you’ve got no other options, seems like you should be nicer to me.” She finally offered.

“Ni- I’m not nice. Couldn’t _be_ nice. Demon. Whole point of the thing.” Crowley’s hands went into the air in exasperation.

Even without Agnes Nutter’s prophecies Anathema could see the cyclical argument this was quickly going to devolve into. Instead of wading further in she relented and grabbed a spare (newly bought) apron. She hung it around Crowley’s neck while he was mid-rant, smiling in satisfaction at the scowl she received.

“Bloody tartan? Really?”

“Think of how domestic he’ll think you look. In tartan like you’re cooking in the home you’ll share one day.” She grinned when Crowley’s eyes flashed dangerously, even hidden behind sunglasses, and he started to bare his teeth. She merely slipped on her own apron.

The fight immediately went out of him, looking down in a kind of confused indignation at being so thoroughly derailed. "What in heaven is that?" 

"It's an old Pulsifer family heirloom. Newt's mother gave it to me. For the wedding." she sniffed haughtily, dusting off the edges of the perfectly clean apron whilst being careful not to catch the very obvious dildo wobbling in front of the crotch area. 

"A bloody... I know we don't like Americans, didn't think his parents would hate you that much. You're not all that bad for a human. Maybe a bad cyclist." 

Anathema scrunched her face in a way that might have been adorable if it was Newt looking at it. As it was Anathema merely pulled down the old family recipe book and dumped two bags of flour onto the counter, a triumphant glint in her eyes when a small cloud of powder was released over the demon’s all black outfit. At least he couldn't complain about the apron now. 

Still... Anathema looked at the bags and pursed her lips thoughtfully."Newt? Do we have any more flour or just these two?" 

"Just the two I think. Why?" 

"Alright, I'll be back in a bit just going to the store." She said with a roll her eyes. 

It was only about 10 minutes later that Crowley got a phone call. “Look, I'm here and I can't find any all purpose flour. They’ve even got flour for bread. Is this another weird English thing?" The voice on the other side demanded without preamble. To be fair, that one was his doing – having everything be different across the pond. 

"Oi, computer boy. American all-purpose flour, know what is over here?" It took a moment for Newt to realise that Crowley was talking to him, only clicking when Aziraphale cleared his throat and glared pointedly at demon. 

"Manners, dear boy." 

"Er... Should probably say online somewhere. I'm not great with Google though. Can't even get a phone with it on, though I'm pretty good at snake." He smiled sheepishly, holding up his old Nokia, held together by faith and determination as much as the Bentley had once been. 

"I'm quite good at that one too!" Aziraphale brightened. “Crowley insisted I try out mobile telephones. Never did catch on I'm afraid but that darling little snake chasing the apple and getting longer and faster the whole time. I admit I had a lot of fun with that." 

Crowley slipped back into the kitchen, trying to ignore whatever _that_ was as the two of them talked about a 20 year old game. He breathed slowly and tried not to think about any snakes getting longer as he brought up Google. 

"It's the bloody plain stuff isn't it? Got it right here." He finally announced down the phone. Step one and then wasted half an hour trying to find and buy an ingredient that they already had. Crowley brought a hand to his face, pushing his glasses up just far enough to rub tiredly at his eyes. This was going to be a long day. Still... He inched over just far enough to look into the living room. Aziraphale was almost shoulder to shoulder with Newt as they looked over the manual for an old Packard Bell PC and Newt regaled him with a story of how he had used one to (accidentally) take out an entire street’s power. 

He looked happy. Face relaxed and eyes crinkled slightly up in the way that told humans they were safe. Softness and love over the steel of the warrior beneath.

A pie might not be much, in the grand scheme of their relationship so far. In the vast ocean of small miracles and flash rescues and gentle tempting. What it _was_ however, was real, human work now that they were on their own side. Physical and needlessly complicated from start to finish when he could just snap his fingers.

He thought it made a difference though (and because he _believed_ it did, of course it _would_ ) to do it the human way. All those sappy shows on the box said you could tell when something was made with love. Even if he didn’t quite know how to say the words without all that fear clogging his throat… He reckoned it was a good place to try to start, if Aziraphale could miss all the rest. If maybe his hedonistic angel could _taste_ a bit of the love he was going to cram into the stupid treat: all human graft and true affection and apples grown from his own personal Eden.

He could only imagine his angel’s face as he dug in; his noises hopefully just a smidgen less obscene while they were in company. At least until he could maybe get him back to the flat or the bookshop. Offer him up another piece, maybe with some Chantilly cream, watch him lick the spoon clean with long strokes of his tongue after making some of those low noises of enjoyment…

“Right, false start but lets get going, yeah?” Anathema’s voice snapped Crowley from his reverie and he bit back the urge to growl. He _did_ actually have to get the pie made if he was going to get to that point anyway.

Things were not going much better in the kitchen 20 minutes later. There was scrambling for pans and mixing bowls, the thud of a block of lard being dropped and the subsequent disgusted groans from the two occupants. Newt looked up worriedly every time he heard the demon’s voice raised in ire but found himself surprisingly comforted each time when Aziraphale pressed a gentle hand to his arm and gave him a smile with a careful shake of his head.

“He’s enjoying himself, I think. Despite the fuss.”

Then Crowley’s voice raised again. “What’s a bloody floz when it’s at home then, eh?”

“Why do you-? That’s for the cream, you don’t need that yet.”

“Well you said-”

“Look, it’s _this_ bit okay?”

“Alright, so what’s 2% then? You mean skimmed? Is that skimmed? Semi-skimmed? Ancestors saw everything coming and didn’t think to tell you to keep your stuff in actual English when you hopped over on the ferry cuz you’d be back.”

“That’s not even- Come here, you’re going to- Crowley! You got it on my dick! Look at it now.”

Aziraphale blinked, somewhere between surprise and alarm as Newt’s face flushed bright red. “I can’t believe she...” Newt tapered off as he took his own turn to gently pull Aziraphale back by the arm as he moved to stand, a look of almost resignation on the human’s face. “It’s just an apron. Long story but… yeah, it’s uh… What do you give to a millionaire who has it all? No, that sounds weirder. It’s all probably fine.” Newt was actually redder as his words tapered off to a mumble.

Aziraphale looked doubtful but slowly settled into the chair, a huff of something like a laugh. “Ridiculous things aren’t they, really?” He chuckled.

Newt looked to the kitchen, gaze turning terribly soft as Anathema passed across the doorway, stalking with purpose towards the demon at the other side with a smear of something across her cheek. “Completely.” He agreed and Aziraphale felt warm with the love in it.

“C’mon, it calls for bourbon and what’s the point if it’s not one for me, one for you and one for the pie?”Aziraphale could feel the slight press of temptation from where Crowley was and shook his head. Completely, indeed.

By the time the oven door was opened and closed ( _It only goes up to 9, what do you mean 350?_ ) both Aziraphale and Newt had relaxed into the comfortable assumption that they were not actually going to murder each other. Despite all the fuss.

“Hey, that’s not fair! You-” Anathema’s frustrated yell was suddenly cut off with a low hiss that did have Aziraphale on his feet this time.

As he and Newton rushed into the kitchen they were met with the sight of Crowley, half white with flour and eyes unshielded by glasses glaring down at Anathema. The latter had backed up against the kitchen counter, grip trembling and white-knuckled around a bag of flour but face trying for determined even in the face of serpentine eyes.

“What on earth happened in here?” Aziraphale sighed wearily, a click of his fingers clearing the demon, the witch and the counter all in one go. He tried not to look too closely at the fake penis jutting up proudly from Anathema’s crotch as she straightened out her clothes. How two vaguely competent adult beings could be so childish…

“He used that power to clean himself and left me looking like the only one a bomb had hit!” Anathema at least set the bag carefully to the side, despite not seeming to be able to drag her eyes away from the lock Crowley’s had on hers.

“Crowley dear? Your excuse for this behaviour?” He asked expectantly.

Crowley straightened, looking at Aziraphale incredulously and the angel saw the moment Anathema started to relax.

“You’ve _got_ to be kiddi- I cleaned myself up, not my fault she can’t do it herself.” He gestured off to Anathema with an annoyed curl of his lips that this time was _definitely_ more pout than actual anger.

“And it’s not my fault you can’t make your boyf-” The words came stuck in Anathema’s throat when Crowley rounded on her. The demon felt a twinge more respect when she shuffled her shoulders and straightened up to glare at him after the initial choking fear had crept from her hind-brain into somewhere more manageable. “So how about you consider _that_ next time.” She huffed, voice croaking just slightly.

Aziraphale took the opportunity to bustle forward and suggest making them all tea as Newt separated the two out from each other. He lead Crowley back into the living room despite the fact that the poor boy was trembling more than Anathema; despite not having the full force of the glower on him. Aziraphale gave the young man a grateful, hopefully encouraging, smile over his shoulder.

Once things had calmed down a little they actually sat down together to eat. Crowley was agitated right the way through dinner, leg bouncing distractedly as he looked back towards the kitchen where the pie was sitting out to get from scalding to warm.

Once or twice Anathema kicked him under the table, sending silent admonitions to stay cool while the demon scowled back at her. Inevitably he’d still for a few moments at best before being on the move again.

Newt looked between the two of them completely baffled. He decided to take Aziraphale’s serene and pointed ignoring of the situation as his example and gamely brought up the weather; hoping that it held out for them on the way back. Crowley snorted to himself. As though the Bentley couldn’t get its way back in a hurricane if needs must.

When dessert came around the demon’s demeanour immediately shifted; preternaturally still. So much that Newt was worried he’d stopped breathing.

“You alright Crowley?” He asked, his own foot tapping with nervous energy now that the other was so still.

“Yep. Just fine. Bit of a sweet tooth, you know. Dessert’s always good. Right Aziraphale?” Crowley looked over to the other, eyes wide enough that the soft light catching behind sunglasses made an almost desperate look visible.

“Yes, you did always enjoy it over a proper meal. And I must admit I enjoy a sweet after a good supper.” He smiled, placating.

Luckily in that moment two plates came down in front of the immortals at the table and Newt remembered he was supposed to be a host too and not just staring at the mood swings of a demonic entity. “You sit, I’ll grab the others.” He offered to Anathema, shuffling off and glad of the very brief reprieve from the atmosphere as he got the last two plates.

Crowley did his level best not to look as though he was staring at Aziraphale as he started to eat. He really did. But the other’s gravity on him was inescapable at the best of times and in that moment in particular his mind was screaming to be close enough to see the slightest flicker of anything on his angel’s face. Or far enough away that he’d never know if anything was wrong.

Aziraphale smiled at the give of the crust against his fork before he took his first bite. He rolled his tongue, the tastes and sensations washing over his palette. And alongside it a warm wash of love that welled up within his corporation almost too much for it to contain. He could feel the pure affection pushing at his edges, felt yearning in the spaces between his bones and his true self, felt adoration pricking hot at the backs of his eyes at how overwhelming it was.

It was apples in Eden, apples instead of grapes at the theatre, apples replacing pears with gentler words when he’d rejected Crowley’s request for holy water. It was a protective wing in the first rain and the promise to help each other out that had bound them in each other’s orbits much more intimately over the last thousand years or so. Always closer, each pass faster until they were bound to collide.

It was **also** far too much bourbon and a slightly soggy base and a cinnamon sugar that wasn’t near enough of either. It was awful. One look around the table told Aziraphale that they had all come to the same conclusion.

Crowley’s grip was white around the fork that was beginning to bend and he was looking down at his plate like he might launch it across the room. Aziraphale placed a gentle hand over the demon’s and was immediately jostled off as the other pushed back from the table, chair scraping against the floor with a screech that went straight through Aziraphale’s bones.

He was out of the door almost before the angel could think. “Oh, we’ll be right back. Terribly sorry about this.” Aziraphale looked desperately to the door and back once before taking off after Crowley.

At the table Anathema reached for Newt’s hand and laced their fingers together with a gentle squeeze. “You feel that?” She asked softly as she turned her sight to Newton. To what now seemed the exact opposite of Crowley and Aziraphale’s relationship – their own had been a sort of inevitable pre-warned thing that became complicated to navigate only after the fact. This was 6,000 years of drawing closer and knowing each other intimately and still not having moved to make it so. 

There was a sheen of water over Newt’s uncertain, wide eyes as he only nodded in response with a squeeze of Anathema’s hand, not trusting his voice.

Crowley had only gone as far as the seat of his Bentley before stopping. Almost entirely. Aziraphale slipped nervously into the passenger seat and Crowley’s eyes didn’t so much as flicker from where they watched his own hands on the steering wheel.

“My dear?” The angel hedged softly, like approaching an injured wild animal. If he was honest he was fairly certain some of Crowley’s serpentine aspects were making themselves known under all this stress. And really, Aziraphale couldn’t even conscionably pretend that he didn’t know what had happened. Couldn’t ask Crowley to take back what had been meant and shared along with that slightly over-sweet after taste.

Crowley’s only response was to tighten his fingers around the steering wheel.

“I… I’m sorry that it didn’t quite come out the way that you wanted it to but…” Aziraphale looked down at where his own hands were worrying themselves into knots. “Oh, it was _wonderful_.” He sighed, that warmth flooding in his chest and behind his eyes once again at the mere memory of it. “I don’t know how you managed such a thing but it was simply… and, well, you see of course...”

Aziraphale bit his tongue and paused to give himself time to just _think_. “You see I’ve loved you for so long, and I never thought you wou-”

He was cut off by a strangled noise coming from the demon beside him and when he turned to look he could see those eyes boring into him, disbelieving and more than a little scared. “Don’t,” Crowley swallowed thickly “don’t just humour me because I couldn’t- I don’t...”

The angel leaned in, the bob of his throat clear as he swallowed back emotion that shone through his eyes regardless. “Oh my dear, never. Not with you. I’ve hidden much too much from you, I think. I don’t want that any more.”

There was a creak from the steering wheel and all of a sudden the demon let go of it, something that wasn’t quite a sob forcing its way from his chest. “I didn’t think- didn’t mean for you to see that.” He admitted.

Aziraphale had to admit he’d rather gathered that so far. “Perhaps not the way either of us would have… but… but I do love you Crowley. I’m so happy to have a side that’s ours alone. I want that, want your side, so much more than I ever wanted to belong up there.”

Crowley’s jaw tensed, the force enough to shatter a mortal’s teeth as he scrambled desperately to keep everything in it’s box where it belonged. “I… Maybe we should get hopping. Don’t really wanna do this here angel.” He admitted. What was left unsaid but understood was that he didn’t want to have to wait much longer to finally do this.

When they re-entered the cottage Newt and Anathema were moving around each other sorting the dishes. They were also definitely not anywhere near the window where snooping on the Bentley would happen.

For a moment Aziraphale felt a moue of guilt leaving all the work to the two of them but unfortunately there were more pressing matters. He could make this up to them later. “My dears, I’m terribly sorry to be so sudden about our exit but I think we’re going to have to make our excuses for the night.”

“No, of course.” Newt smiled faintly, drying his hands off and giving Aziraphale his best handshake. “You just be careful on your way back and, uh, let us know you’re doing okay. Okay?” The ex-witch hunter smiled when Aziraphale nodded his agreement.

Meanwhile Anathema strode up to Crowley and pressed a plastic take away box into his hands. “You’ll be glad of it later. Trust a witch. And be honest with him. Don’t let me find out you tried to bullshit your way out of this one.” 

Her voice was low, an approximation of Crowley’s usual hiss. Despite the maelstrom of other feelings he couldn’t quite keep in check, Crowley also had to add in the surprisingly warm regard he had for the ridiculous firebrand. He didn’t trust his voice for the moment but gave a mock salute just over his sunglasses and was awarded a satisfied nod in return. Message received.

The two humans stood at the doorway of Jasmine cottage watching the Bentley drive off, Anathema’s arms wrapped around her husband from behind.

“Wonder if 6,000 years would feel like that for us.” Newton mused under his breath.

Anathema could only laugh. “We wouldn’t be stupid enough to wait for the end of the world and a _really bad_ pie to do anything about it. He’s going to be insufferable next time he’s here though.” She wrinkled her nose in annoyance.

“Yeah.” Newt couldn’t help but smile, turning to press a kiss to Anathema’s nose. “I hope so too.”


End file.
